


An Afternoon Fantasy

by thekeyholder



Category: Muse
Genre: Friendship, Introspection, M/M, POV First Person, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2209599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little piece about Tom fantasizing about his good friend…</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Afternoon Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AutumnShudder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnShudder/gifts).



> Just a piece I wrote for my friend some years ago. Posted in January 2011 on my LJ.

> The sun is shining brightly, the warm sunrays caressing the top of our heads and our dark locks. Our surroundings are so peaceful that I can barely move, the harmony is just too perfect. A few minutes later I turn my head to the right and take in the image of your majestic profile. I wish I could capture the moment and retain it in a golden box, like the most precious of my possessions.
> 
> You smile into the gilded air and your brown eyelashes are quivering… I wonder if you are dreaming about me or you are just happy to be outside and enjoy the early spring. I look at the wads of clouds lazily swimming on the infinite ocean of the sky… their life is so easy, they are just going with the flow. Sometimes a breath of wind is enough to make clouds break away, but they can also fuse in the twinkling of an eye: particle by particle, grey with pure white, cold with warm, positive with negative charge. They are one.
> 
> I sense the blades of grass trembling under my palms, but I think it’s only the breeze playing with them. However, in the next moment, warm fingers are gliding on mine like sneaky spiders, and they stroke my hand gently, until the mentioned warm fingers worm their way between mine. By choice, I would kiss you passionately and put my hands in your curly hair, but I’m afraid even to smile or to turn my head towards you. I keep watching the clouds very intently to keep my mind off of the nervousness that’s building inside me.
> 
> After a while, you want to drag your hand back, probably thinking that I don’t feel the same for you. I do, I swear I love you more than the vivacious colours around us or the contrast between light and darkness because you reunite all those things in yourself; but please, _never_ leave my side! I close my eyes and I tighten my hold on your fingers so they cannot escape. Ever. You stop. You understood my silent message. The world is rejoicing again and so is my heart.

 

 

I put down the pen and rub my eyes tiredly. I lie back and stare at the ceiling, wishing I could return in my little fantasy. The fantasy which enraptures me every time I find myself alone. There’s a knock on my door and I tell to my afternoon visitor that they can enter. It’s you with the never fading warm smile gracing your lips.

 

“Hey, Tom! Just checking if you are all right,” you say softly.

 

“Sure, sure. I just had to take a nap, I didn’t sleep well last night,” I lie shamelessly because he should never find out the real reason.

 

“Ah, okay. Well, I was going for a walk, thought you might want to join? The weather’s unusually warm and I don’t have anything else to do. Besides, I had enough of hearing Matt and Dom’s bedroom noises.”

 

We both laugh heartily and I get up from the bed. Before heading out, I take the camera with me. It’s a reflex that I am not even aware of anymore, but people always find it weird and amusing. He also remarks it:

 

“I think you were born with that in your hand.”

 

I pat him on the shoulder while we are leaving the building and continue in an equally mocking voice: “Well, Mum never mentioned it, but you were there, right? You witnessed it.”

 

He laughs and I can’t help but stare at his white teeth. With a shrug, he adds sympathetically:

 

“I understand, she’s the love of your life.”

 

The statement is punctuated with a deep sigh. What could it mean?

 

In a way, he’s right, but he doesn’t know the real reasons. I love my camera because I can at least attempt to capture his unworldly beauty, so I can show it to other people and to make them see him the way I see him. I love my camera because through the photographs I owe a small part of his invaluable being, and that piece is just mine and nobody else’s. I love my camera because it is a good pretext for staring at him freely and just lurking around him. I love my camera because it is a tool to express my thoughts and views on the world; I’ve never been good with putting them in words, I’m always at loss with them, but photography is just as suggesting.

 

Finally, and most importantly, I love my camera because it is the only way I can tell you how much you mean to me… it is an unintrusive, unostentatious and inconspicuous mode to declare my feelings. It’s just a silent confession of love which you might or might not perceive. It’s your choice, my dear. I’ll always be beside you, _Chris_ …


End file.
